Caroline clenched the railing of the grand staircase so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her perfectly manicured nails dug slightly into the polished mahogany as she tried to steady her breath. Her eyes, outlined in gold shimmer and mascara, locked onto Lucien like prey to a predator. He was standing just below the staircase, a sheen of sweat glistening against his skin like a sculpted Greek statue straight out of a Renaissance painting. His shirt clung to his chest, soaked from his morning workout, while strands of damp, jet-black hair curled lightly at his temples.
She hated that her heart stuttered.
